At dinner tonight the boy child vomited over his seat onto the table. He had been munching on a giant rice cake and one half had fallen on the table. Without uttering a word I pushed the rice cake into the puddle of sick to help absorb the milky vomit. Mr MF, my toddler and I said nothing. Then five minutes later Mr MF laughed and said how normal this was. Not that we frequently use absorbent food stuffs as vomit sponges but because this was another ingenious step in my on-going fight against sick, grime, food on the floor etc. You see the boy child has a reflux problem that means he is sick a lot. Not only is it horrible for him, but it’s a tiring battle of constant cleaning.
He barfed over the Jumperoo so much the other day the baby wipes and I were defeated. I had to risk bleeding finger tips to push out the toys before finding wedged in mouldy sick. Nice. Pre-parent stage I would have found this rather horrible.
And this afternoon I found a bit of poo that must’ve leapt from the changing mat on the carpet. I’d like to say I recoiled in horror. Nope, I just picked it up, cleaned up and continued to play, cook dinner, clean up more sick, put another load of washing in and do online banking all at the same time.
In my past life I used to use my brain. Now I’m Mrs Tickle.
Why does parenting have to involve so much dirt. I’ve started to wonder if I’ve been developing OCD and then I walk into the houses of friends who don’t have children and I think, no it’s not OCD it’s the depressing fact that children create so much grot. Mess I can deal with. Dirt I cannot. The carpets have so many stains on them I’m almost willing a few more to create a pattern. Then I shall claim they were intentional.